Doyle removed his cell from his pocket and started typing. He put it to his ear a moment later and said, “May I speak with Alfred Niederman’s manager? Yes, you can tell her that Detective Ira Doyle, with the NYPD, is on the phone.”

Larkin stared at the strip plug on the floor that both the fan and lamp were using. There was a third cable plugged in as well, but it went in the opposite direction, disappearing around the far side of the bed. Larkin followed it, finding it attached to a black modem on the floor. A router was plugged into the top socket in the wall outlet beside it. Larkin took a second inventory of the bedroom, but it was as sparse as a military barrack.

Doyle lowered the phone from his mouth and asked quietly, “What’re you looking for?”

“There’s a Wi-Fi setup and it’s on,” Larkin explained. “Where’s Niederman’s computer, tablet, smartphone.”

Doyle raised his brows and turned in a slow circle.

Larkin brushed past him, stopped, and stared at the door beside the shower. He’d missed it entirely upon first inspection, due to the curious angle of the studio layout and the fact that the door had no trim and was painted the same off-white as the walls. “What’s this door,” he asked.

Dan said, still standing in the threshold, “Toilet.”

“Why is there a padlock on it.”

“Come again?”

Larkin tugged on the lock in question. Generic store-brand hardware. “Doyle.”

“I’m on the phone.”

“I need you to break into another lock.”

“Can I put you on hold for a moment? Thank you.” Doyle tapped the phone’s screen and then approached Larkin. “I’m on the phone,” he said again.

Larkin tugged on the lock as he met Doyle’s eyes.

“Do you know how much more difficult it is to pick a padlock?”

“You’re very capable.”

“Thank you.” Doyle looked over Larkin’s shoulder and toward Dan. “Do you have bolt cutters in the building?”

Dan studied the two curiously but nodded. “Got some tools in the basement. Give me a second.”

Doyle glanced at Larkin after Dan’s steps receded into the stairwell. “I don’t carry extra paperclips on me.”

“I’m mildly disappointed.”

“You get a thrill out of me breaking the law?”

“It’s not breaking the law when you have explicit permission,” Larkin corrected. He asked, as Doyle started to raise his phone, “Can you break out of handcuffs.”

At that, Doyle leaned forward and braced one gloved hand on his thigh as he let out a breathy laugh. “In this situation, did you put me in the handcuffs? Because if that’s the case, why would I want to break free?”

Larkin turned toward the open door so Doyle couldn’t see his smile.